


The Radio Demon Has No Weaknesses (Apparently)

by Asperxiession



Series: The Radio Demon Has... Something [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Is Not Okay, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor-typical Shenanigans, Alcohol, Animal Death (Mention), Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Developing Friendships, Graphic Description, Husk-typical Alcohol, Injury, Other, Platonic Relationships, Rating because it's Hell, Tags May Change, character exploration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asperxiession/pseuds/Asperxiession
Summary: Alastor is seemingly impenetrable, invincible, powerful. The Radio Demon, upon taking up residence in the Happy Hotel, begins to face a lot of unfamiliar things he never expected he would. Especially not after death.
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Alastor & Husk & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: The Radio Demon Has... Something [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574710
Comments: 34
Kudos: 332





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work for Hazbin Hotel, and the first fanfic I've posted in a while. Alastor is a really interesting character with a ton of potential depths to explore! Which I am happy to poke at :)

It wasn’t always that Alastor found himself in silence. In fact, it’s hardly ever that silence falls around him. His... natural ambiance prevents that. But, when he settles down in his Tower, fingers steepled beneath his chin and legs crossed at the knee, screams echoing in the basement and directly into his broadcast without hardly any work from himself... silence falls, and he lets his smile drop, closing his eyes and relishing in the silence as his guests finally fall unconscious. Silence on the radio has become a sound feared throughout Hell, and he _adores_ it.

But he can’t simply let this last. He stands, summoning his microphone and speaking into it as he truly begins the broadcast. The background radio static and laugh tracks return as he makes his way down to the basement, eager to wake his guests.

\---

Alastor’s broadcasts became few and far between as the Happy-- no, the _Hazbin_ \-- Hotel became his primary entertainment. His background ambiance becomes the backdrop for many meetings and interviews Charlie hosts at her establishment, bleeding into their lives slowly but surely. By the end of the first month, the Hotel has more than Angel as a patron, and none of the staff blink at the sound of Alastor breaking his neck or jazz and swing erupting from him at random.

The residents of Hell think they’ve gotten off the hook, free of the Radio Demon’s broadcasts and reign of terror. Unfortunately for them, he’s simply been otherwise occupied learning how, exactly, a hotel of redemption works.

Isolation from their typical vices; how _entertaining_. The withdrawals will prove to be endless entertainment on their own.

Removal of temptations from the Hotel, aside from Husk’s quaint little front desk-bar. Why, that’s the bee’s knees! Desperation is ever intriguing to pick apart and draw out.

Listening to Charlie about how to make oneself a better person. Ha! She speaks of it all the time! That could be less focus on redemption and the price of spending more than a handful of minutes in the Hotel at a time.

And Alastor listens to Charlie. He does. It isn’t, exactly, his fault that she’s simply... not quite as entertaining as he was hoping she would be. Especially when she starts off on a tangent about redemption and, in particular, _Alastor’s_ redemption.

He’s fully aware he’s irredeemable. Dear, dear Charlie refuses to let his words stop her, though, and he often finds himself staring down at a pile of papers she wants him to read through, piled high on the desk he’d brought to _his_ room in the Hotel. Alastor never reads them, and has taken to simply piling them atop each other, interested in seeing just how high the pile could possibly get before she realizes that he hasn’t even read a single one.

Ah, and then there’s wonderful Vaggie. A Jane with buttons aplenty to push and prod! Had Alastor been fascinated with how humans worked in life, he had been immediately enamored by how this tiny moth of a demon works. She’s hardly strong enough to be a pest to the Radio Demon, and yet she insists on shoving a spear in his face and glaring at him constantly! This demoness possesses the brains to leave talk of redemption on the backburner when it comes to Alastor, and this he can respect.

Angel Dust is one he could do without. Boundaries hardly exist with the tactile pornstar, and Alastor could, quite very honestly, thrive without the constant irritation brought upon by the ridiculous attempts for a... _thing_ with the Radio Demon. Half of the slang ingrained in Alastor’s vocabulary gets twisted by the spider to mean something _else_ , something _disgusting_. And he is never happier to have never indulged in primitive recreation than in these moments.

Husk and Niffty are welcome friendly faces he delights in seeing on the daily. Why, just giving Niffty a nod as she zips by in the hallway gives him a bit of an extra boost to replace the energy Angel Dust’s presence seems to suck out of him. Drinking with Husk in the later hours is something he had grown fond of many years ago, and something he is more than happy to indulge in, once again, even though he’s fairly certain the winged cat demon would be more willing to die again than hear “giggle juice” ever again. He makes sure to request giggle juice in place of alcoholic drinks and _certainly_ not just because of this reason.

Then there are the patrons still rightfully afraid of him. These demons, often only in for a brief stay before either Charlie or himself drive them out, provide a brief respite from the respect and irritation he’s earned from the Hotel staff. Fear, awe, and, occasionally, actual urine! Fascinating!

Alastor hardly finds himself bored enough to commit to a hunt. Katie Killjoy of the picture show makes absolutely certain the demons of Hell know that the Radio Demon has seemingly gone soft, just like the Princess running the Hotel. He finds he doesn’t care, this time. The terror he inspires simply by sitting in the lobby creates quite enough chaos for Niffty and Charlie to handle, and he is more than happy to stay quiet as his back is stared at for hours on end. These demons hardly pose a threat, and are far too scared of the repercussions should they attempt to attack him; he’d made sure the last one who tried got to be on his broadcast, loud and clear.

But then there are the nights where patrons have retreated to their rooms, Husk has given him a glass and a bottle, and Charlie and Vaggie are in their room, doing _whatever_ it is that they do in there when Charlie isn’t working. Alastor finds himself silent, letting his radio ambiance fill the air, quiet so as not to disturb Husk too much, but just loud enough to fill the lobby, should one care to listen. There are the odd notes of jazz, or swing, or of a fellow radioman Alastor vaguely remembers from life. He doubts any of those men are here, as well, so he lets the sounds drone on, sipping at his drink as Husk grunts, downing yet another bottle.

These nights, with just his radio sounds and the glasses clinking whenever they’re set down, Alastor can’t help but feel _something_ odd in these moments. Something he’s unfamiliar with, and can’t quite put to words, which is incredibly irritating, seeing as he’s hardly ever short for words! Husk is fond of saying he, in fact, uses far too many! So having approximately zero words for the feeling in these nights, in these quiet moments where Niffty sometimes joins them for a drink of her own, is, by far, the most frustrating thing Alastor has had to deal with in a very, very long time.

Niffty is the first to pick up on this, not surprisingly, as the only other one to witness Alastor’s subtle stewing is drunk most (if not all) of the time. She stays quiet about it, but she most certainly doesn’t stay quiet entirely. Her mouth still moves a mile a minute as she sips at her drink, watching Alastor and his “giggle juice” and Husk and his hard liquors. Her eye locks onto Alastor’s face the more he drinks, watching his smile relax and his face soften. Niffty’s own drink turns to a bit of giggle juice as the three of them get progressively drunker.

Husk is second to learn about it. He’s drinking a bit less than he usually does, as per Charlie’s request. Alastor, on the other hand, requests something heavier and stronger to deal with the added stresses of a busy day at the Hotel. The Radio Demon isn’t quite as subtle as he thinks when he’s drunk, and he doesn’t know it. On the other hand (paw? claw?) Husk is fully aware of this. He watches with a bottle to his lips as Alastor loosens up, slouching and propping his chin on his hand and giving him a goofy smile. Niffty doesn’t say anything about it, but she clearly knows what’s going on. Husk thinks he’s getting an idea as to why she’s been staring at Alastor the last few weeks.

Angel Dust is next to figure it out. He intrudes on the trio’s time together more and more often, settling down on the farthest end of the bar from Alastor, for everyone’s safety. A drunk Angel Dust is a very touchy-feely Angel Dust, likely to discard clothing one piece at a time before he gets ushered off to his room. But, despite his distance as the three drink quietly together, he can see the change in Alastor. A sort of looseness about him that isn’t usually there, a slurred or dropped sound that isn’t purely because of the alcohol, and a slouch that definitely never presents itself otherwise. He never sees it when Alastor is drinking away without Husk or Niffty nearby. He never sees it when Alastor is sober. He _absolutely_ doesn’t hear it. So he thinks about it when he’s sober. And the only conclusion makes him cackle out loud the very next time he sees Alastor nearly fall out of his seat. The glare is worth it.

Charlie and Vaggie find out from Angel Dust in exchange for a bit of weed. Vaggie, of course, isn’t happy about forking over the weed, but she can’t help the smile that pulls at her lips as soon as her and Charlie are alone. Charlie’s smile is huge, splitting her face as she grabs at Vaggie and spins her around, giggling and bouncing. Alastor can’t possibly be irredeemable if _Angel Dust_ had figured something like this out just by looking at him. They can make progress with him! And he doesn’t always have to be the terrible Radio Demon!

The other patrons of the Hotel don’t find out, of course. Angel is fully aware of the imminent death that blabbing like that would bring him, Charlie and Vaggie agreed not to talk about it publicly for Alastor’s sake, and Niffty and Husk... decided to keep things quiet. With Alastor, one could never be too careful, especially regarding his... drunken mannerisms. Despite all their desperate attempts to keep it well under wraps from the Radio Demon himself, he ends up finding something _off_ about how they all talk to him. Or, more accurately, how they _avoid_ talking to him.

Alastor is the last to find out.

The Radio Demon is standing at the window in his bedroom, a glass of champagne cradled in one hand and the other resting at the small of his back. His gaze is unfocused as he thinks, ears twitching at every sound, and a soft static rising and falling rhythmically around him. He’s noticed Husk and Niffty have been smiling at him more. Especially when he’s drinking. He’s stopped drinking quite so much as of late, hoping to avoid whatever it is that makes them look so pleased, even though he does quite appreciate seeing Husk smile. It isn’t as common an occurrence as Niffty’s smile, but he does find it--

He stops that thought there. He finds Husk’s smile _what_? That’s ridiculous. It’s like Niffty’s smile! Utterly annoying. Ridiculous. Like their voices.

Wait. He sets his glass to the side, resting it on his nightstand as he sits on the edge of his bed, hands clasped in his lap and staring across the room at the wall. His thoughts continue returning to the smiles the two of them have been giving him lately. Husk’s, soft and small, unused as he is to smiling without Alastor forcing his fingers against his cheeks. Niffty’s, falling from her usual grin and turning to something more gentle and warm. Their voices going soft as they drink, even though his own remains at his standard volume.

Husk’s hand brushing his as they pass a bottle, a glass, and not feeling an immediate desire to tear the offending limb from Husk’s shoulder. Niffty, having always been an exception, bouncing up onto the bar and giving him the glass when, quite honestly, Husk could have reached just fine; their hands brushing ever so slightly in the transaction. Not having the urge to rip away their limbs.

This is something he isn’t a fan of. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like the rush of his heart, the blood pumping in his own veins. He doesn’t like the heat. He doesn’t like the tug of a genuine smile at the corners of his mouth.

So Alastor sheds his feelings as he sheds his robe, setting it aside and crawling under the covers, conjuring a much stronger drink and a book, relaxing against the headboard of his bed. He’ll ignore the _feelings_ until he no longer has a choice. It worked well in life. It will work just as fine, here. After all, why pay any attention to the _things_ that frustrate him to no end?

If he doesn’t actually read the book in front of him, nobody has to know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Radio Demon does something productive. Whether or not anyone is happy about it is irrelevant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for rather graphic torture in this chapter! If it isn't your cup of tea, skip from one line break to the other. I made sure to write about even amounts so there's something for everyone this chapter, still.

The uninterrupted radio has been setting the denizens of hell on edge for long enough. Alastor decides he’ll spend his day... more productively. Tugging on his coat to straighten it out, he summons his microphone, happily strolling through the Hotel and swinging it around at his side, scaring away unaware demons in the hallways. Their pure terror makes his grin bigger as he walks through the halls, humming along to the tunes emanating from nowhere. He quite enjoys seeing demons of all size and shape darting out of his way, even as he smiles with his teeth hidden and a bounce in his step.

Of course, his pleasant demeanor doesn’t last long after he steps out of the Happy Hotel. His smile twists at the corners, curling and baring his teeth as he stalks through the streets, searching and prowling like the hunter he is. The blood in his veins is not. Enough. Blood. Alastor’s fingers twitch and curl as he moves through the streets of the Pentagram, eyes flicking back and forth between the demons he passes.

He knows what he wants.

Irons-- no, cars-- are dismissed. He never liked their sounds, their lights. He never liked them.

Working demons are dismissed. Filthy and disgusting and sweaty. He prefers fresh bodily fluids.

Small demons are safe. They hardly have anything he wants from them, other than screaming.

Ah, but, there! Someone bored, too absorbed in their... device to notice his approach, even though he’s quite generous with his background sound. He isn’t sure what, exactly, they’re doing, but it makes them quite an easy target! A wonderful distraction.

Grabbing this demon is incredibly easy. His powers have made procuring victims so simple, he’s no longer as keen on the hunt, but  _ far _ more interested in the process as he takes them apart, piece by piece, bit by bit. Dragging unimportant demons below his Tower has become practically second nature! 

Tying them up is never a problem. Alastor knocks them out with a swing of a tentacle, laying them down and tying them up with special ropes he procured through a deal with another demon; their life for ropes without question, which makes things  _ much _ easier on his finances. Spending a grand a month on rope became old quick. Then the rope is secured to one of the many sturdy hooks in the ceiling, cut short to avoid his captive escaping. A knot he learned many, many years ago, yet still effective and strong! He gives them a bit of a push, letting them swing for a moment as he sets up his broadcast, propping his microphone up on a nearby table, where it rolls its eye.

Securing the victim is, as Angel Dust would say, simply the foreplay. Shrugging off his coat, undoing his bowtie, and rolling up his sleeves, Alastor switches out his usual gloves for a medical pair he picked up off of some demon he chilled off months ago. They are far more efficient to whip off and dispose of than bother cleaning. His tools are clean from the last broadcast, laid out on the table behind his microphone, where the faint clinking of the metals against the surface would be picked up oh-so faintly. He begins the broadcast as he starts to pick through his tools.

This is his favorite part. He watches his captive begin to wake to the tapping of a knife against the table. Alastor picks up the knife properly as the demon wakes up, struggling against the ropes and screaming. Something appears, summoned by the demon’s  _ weak _ powers, yet quickly squashed by Alastor’s own. Part of the reason he never turns his back to his victims for long, nowadays. It was always so simple, when he was alive, when he was dealing with  _ humans _ and their limitations. They never summoned anything that would prick his side. 

* * *

But the screams are all the same when he plunges the knife into their leg the first time. And the second. Working his way down the body was an acquired tactic from his years in Hell. Starting from the bottom and working his way  _ down _ was fantastic! They remained awake for far longer in exchange for less blood spilling from the top down. He can handle the lack of blood. After all, he’ll get plenty of it after the first few sessions, gathered in the pan he always has prepared beneath the hooks.

It makes for a wonderful pasta sauce with the correct additives.

It’s once his knife has reached the victim’s torso that he drops it on the floor, grin splitting his face at the terror in their eyes at the clattering. What else could the Radio Demon  _ possibly _ have in store for them? His table boasts a large array of tools; gardening, surgery, hardware, hunting... and angelic. But, of course, the angelic tools are for later, when he’s finished with his fun. Perhaps the fancy saw he took from a hardware store! It’s very loud, though, and might cover the delicious screaming. No, no, he has other saws. Other saws that let him drag the torture out with every pull of the blade.

That’s what he uses next. He takes his time dragging the serrated blade through flesh and muscle, tapping against exposed bone hard enough the sound echoes through the basement. It’s a beautiful sound, a reminder of the rabbit bone wind chimes he put together for his dear mother when he was alive. Grisly and musical. He indulges in several more hits to the bone before he snaps it, relishing in the sound. The screams are a pleasant backdrop to his ministrations, sawing through the remaining flesh, pulling the arm off as he tears apart the tissues. Every gruesome sound adds to his wonderful orchestra broadcasting across Hell.

Just one third of an arm is all that he saws off. After all, where’s the fun in having free reign if all you do is the same? He found a brand-new spoon, just the other day. Why not have a bit of fun with that? The shining metal digs into the flesh of their stomach, forcibly scooping away the muscles and fat and diving deeper into their body. It’s just a standard, simple spoon, clearly not designed for the purpose he’s using it for. That doesn’t stop him. It makes it so much more interesting! The chunks fall to the pan beneath his victim, and his smile grows as he watches the body attempt to begin stitching itself back together. Demon biology is intriguing, and he does enjoy watching it at work. Sitting back, Alastor lets the demon heal, watching and humming quietly. Their screaming turns to whimpering, wiggling and struggling, gasping in pain.

A break. But not for long, as he waves a hand and speeds up their healing processes. He wants to get started with more traditional torture methods.

He picks up a pair of pliers. Something that hadn’t always been in his repertoire, but something he quickly found to be entertaining. Kneeling down to get even with his victim’s face, he reaches out, caressing their cheek softly. He wrenches their jaw open, inserting the pliers and immediately grabbing onto a visibly already-messed-up tooth. Wiggling it around, he very slowly tugs the tooth out, grinning as they struggle, wiggling and screaming in his face as blood starts to pool in the roof of their mouth, dripping down the pliers and his hand. One tooth comes out with a blood-curdling scream.  _ Delightful. _ The second tooth is harder to pull out, but he does manage to take his time with it, his other hand keeping their jaw more or less in place as they wiggle and fight against his grip. All their struggling does is make it far easier to twist and prolong the pulling of teeth. Even when they take the opportunity of Alastor’s hand moving away to drop the tooth to spit blood in his face, he doesn’t lose his cool, simply wiping at it with his glove and smearing it out. As long as it doesn’t drip down his face.

Half of their teeth are in the pan by the time Alastor grows bored of pulling them out of their skull. They can grow back as he works on their stomach, again. Picking his knife back up off of the floor, he settles in to start peeling it away, layer by layer by layer. Watching the layers tense up and bleed and move as he gets deeper and deeper into their flesh is more than entertaining enough to make up for the pulling of teeth losing its allure. Skinning someone alive had always been an interest of his, even back when it had been incredibly dangerous to do so at risk of being caught. Simply watching the bodily functions as he peels away protective layers is fascinating! Something he had never truly been able to explore when he had been alive. Now, though, he can take it in as long as he wants. He takes his time in peeling away the flesh, dropping them down into the pan with an increasing splash, an increasing squish of loose flesh against loose flesh.

The demon only has so much flesh available to Alastor, though, and he has to shift his focus. Once bone begins to glisten in the faint red light, he moves from their abdomen and up to their legs. Severing the muscles creates a cut he can use to slice the flesh from their legs, peeling it away and dropping it into his pan. This will make for quite the  _ gombo _ when he’s finished. Their wiggling makes for several uneven cuts, but the screaming is well worth it. His microphone gives him a roll of the eye as he glances back at it; an uninterrupted broadcast of the lonely screams of an isolated demon! Oh, how he loves his broadcasts.

* * *

Charlie looks less than pleased when Alastor waltzes back into the Hotel late that night, smelling like meat that she isn’t entirely sure isn’t from the demon he had been... toying with. Of course, Alastor completely ignores this and, instead, plops down in a seat at the bar, producing a bottle of rather expensive whiskey. Angel Dust appears and, surprisingly, doesn’t scare Alastor off immediately. The Radio Demon pops open the whiskey as Husk produces three glasses, setting them out as Alastor happily chatters on and on about nothing of consequence, and certainly nothing about what he’d been doing the whole day.

Husk is fine with that. The whiskey is good, Alastor is in a good mood, Angel Dust is behaving more or less, and Charlie isn’t chastising them for their drinking. Niffty appears at one point between their third or fifth glasses, gasping and darting around, cleaning up a bit of blood that had been on Alastor’s shoe, leading up to the bar. Luckily for her, he doesn’t seem to mind as she grabs at his foot, scrubbing the bottom of his shoe as he throws back another full glass, downing it and asking for another.

Alastor is happy to drink after such a productive day. He entertained himself, got some fantastic gumbo out of it, and found some quality whiskey on the way back! Suffice it to say today was a success, and he feels he deserves to relax. While he had cut back on the drinking recently... perhaps he would like to top off his day with one of those smiles from Husk and Niffty. Sue him.

Actually, no, don’t sue him. He would like to forget this with the hangover he’ll have in the morning from tipping a few too many with the four of them. Niffty has a small shot glass, but that is more than enough for such a tiny body. If he pats her head as she passes out against his arm, nobody says anything. Angel Dust passes out, next. Alastor stifles his giggles as he reaches out, drunkenly pushing the spider off of his stool and nearly falling out of his own in the process. Husk reaches out and keeps him in place, hand falling as Alastor promptly cackles and passes out, head thumping against the bar.

It’s neither here nor there if Husk finds himself petting the Radio Demon as the sun comes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps more genuinely softer Alastor next chapter :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor and Husk share a drink.

Alastor rarely considers spending time alone with others. He truly doesn’t need to as often as other people seem to think everyone should. Of course, while he doesn’t need this one-on-one time with anyone, he has heard from Charlie that, maybe, he should spend a little more time with those he already knows well. Something about friendship, perhaps? He doesn’t quite remember. Angel Dust had interrupted with something or other about his... hobbies. Of course he’d left immediately, with that awful topic having been brought up yet  _ again. _

And so here he finds himself, sitting at the bar with a glass of whiskey in one hand and propping his chin up in the other. Husk is drinking straight from the bottle, as he typically does, his claws tight, as if he were prepared to throw the entire thing at Alastor at a moment’s notice.

On second thought, yes, that is exactly what he would do. It’s happened before.

As he sips at his drink, again, watching as Husk does the same, albeit taking a large gulp, Alastor’s smile turns to a smug smirk. Charlie wanted him to bond? He’ll bond. Setting down his glass, he reaches over, burying his fingers into the fluff on Husk’s cheek. “Tell me, Husker, was your hair as soft as your fur?”

“Oh, fuck off,” the cat demon growls, swatting at Alastor’s hand, but not actually touching him. It makes Alastor’s smile twist into a self-satisfied grin, continuing to scratch,  _ petting _ Husk’s cheek. “And no. It wasn’t.”

Alastor laughs, digging his claws into Husk’s cheek just a bit. If the tips of his claws piercing skin hurt, Husk gave no indication of it. “Is that so! Coarse as your attitude, then?” He laughs again, taking his claws out of Husk’s flesh. Leaning back, he takes his glass back, tapping his finger against the side as he takes a drink, leaving small beads of blood from the tip of his claws. “Your fur is a wonderful contrast to that  _ fantastic _ personality!”

“And your dumb fuckin’ hair is as soft as you are annoyin’.” Husk finishes off his bottle, throwing the empty glass at Alastor, who simply dodges it, letting it shatter against the opposite wall of the lobby, startling a small demon that hadn’t been paying much attention. The cat demon pulls out another bottle, popping it open and taking a more reserved sip from the new drink. 

Chuckling to himself, Alastor raises his glass in a mock toast, tilting his head slightly. “Of course! Temptation is half the fun! I do quite enjoy tearing off the arms of those that think they are an exception.” Like Angel Dust, who had lost a hand just in the last week for not respecting Alastor’s boundaries, despite how often he enforces them. “Their reactions can be quite entertaining.”

Husk only rolls his eyes at the radio dials in Alastor’s eyes, waving away the floating sigils and flattening his ears against the screeching of static. He refills Alastor’s glass, only to have the bottle snatched out of his hand, the deer demon taking his own swig straight from the bottle. It isn’t every night he guzzles down alcoholic drinks, and it certainly isn’t every night Alastor steals alcohol from Husk. The reaction of raised fur and a slight growl is all Alastor could have asked for from the other.

With the winged demon launching himself over the bar, Alastor cackles, swinging himself off the barstool and skipping a few steps away, standing to guzzle down another big gulp, blatantly ignoring the fact that he is drinking quite a lot on an empty stomach. Husk doesn’t seem to be worried about what Alastor is drinking, or how much; it’s really just the fact that he’s stolen an entire bottle he probably planned on drinking on his own later. Dancing around, quite literally, Alastor’s smile is wide and genuine, clearly enjoying stringing Husk around with a simple bottle of alcohol. 

Alastor drinks, and Husk lunges, and Alastor moves a few steps back, and Husk follows. They dance around the lobby together, Alastor’s laughter clear and loud, driving away any potential distracting guests. Even still, he sees Charlie peeking into the lobby, while staying well outside of Husk’s inebriated gaze. She’s smiling, and pulls away the moment he makes eye contact with her, but he doesn’t let the distraction give Husk the advantage, tossing the nearly-empty bottle to his other hand, keeping it well out of his reach and finishing it off in a single gulp.

“You  _ asshole!” _ Husk growls, lifting his arms to block the incoming bottle, only for Alastor to gently knock him with the heavy glass. A boop, he heard Niffty call it, once. “I was gonna drink that!”

“I’m ‘ware’a that!” Alastor laughs, clearing his throat a little upon hearing his own voice. He doesn’t quite appreciate whatever is happening, there. Instead of opening his mouth and making a fool of himself again, he throws the bottle, flipping it a bit midair and, with a snap, he catches it, now full. He gently drops it in Husk’s grabbing hands, taking him by the shoulders and spinning him back around to face the bar.

Husk is, apparently, more than happy to stumble his way back to the bar, clutching his refilled bottle and glaring back over his shoulder at Alastor, as if he doesn’t trust him to not come for the drink again. While Alastor is tempted to continue drowning out whatever might stir within, he simply turns on his heel and leaves, painfully aware of the stumbling in his own step. Even with the clear inebriation, nobody really steps in to bother him as he makes his way back to his room, thumping into the door before it swings open on its own for him. There’s a snicker from somewhere down the hall, but Alastor disregards it, sitting down at his vanity and propping his chin in his hands, smiling at his reflection. 

His mind takes a moment to catch up with everything. He just spent some  _ genuine _ time with Husk, no venom and no arguing and no physical harm. And Charlie had seen it. Alastor lets his head fall against the vanity, thumping and ignoring the associated pain with slamming one's face against a hard surface. 

If he’s lucky, he’ll pass out and forget about this all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While you're here, maybe check out [this](https://twitter.com/Lord_Kodi/status/1208268636252725250) little holiday wallpaper on my Twitter, featuring everyone's favorite Radio Demon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assisting the Hotel means doing paperwork. Doing paperwork means working closely alongside Charlie. Working alongside Charlie means dancing around her stubborn streak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time really writing a Charlie and Alastor interaction. If you have any feedback, please do feel free to leave it in the comments!

Charlie is an interesting character, to say the least. She’s chipper, upbeat, and has a pleasant smile she’s remarkably good at keeping up despite all odds against her. There’s quite a lot of odds against her. Her heart is on her sleeve despite her attempts to hide her true feelings from people, and her eyes are large and filled with emotion. While she had originally been a means to an end, Alastor had decided that, perhaps, she wasn’t entirely as entertaining as he’d initially assumed. 

No, she cares far too much.

Every morning, she goes around asking everyone how they’re doing. This includes Alastor. Every breakfast she makes sure everyone eats something. This includes Alastor. Every lunch she makes sure everyone has been behaving since the last meal. This includes Alastor. Every dinner she makes sure everyone eats and gets along. This includes Alastor.

So he made himself scarce during meals and took meals in his bedroom or office, and only engaged with Charlie outside of her standard check-ins every mealtime. While they are both, technically, running the Hotel together, he would much rather she keep her little black nose out of his business, and his well-being. Even still, she would slip a question in during their discussions of budgeting and advertising, catching Alastor off-guard enough he would sometimes actually answer.

It’s during one of these such discussions that Alastor gets antsy, and Charlie looks up from their papers, watching the Radio Demon as his leg begins to bounce, twisted slightly to avoid bumping the table they’re working on. His hands flick through the papers she’d given him, and his eyes dart around, not entirely taking in what’s set in front of him. It isn’t often that he gets quite so bored, and he isn’t about to admit  _ more _ boredom.

“Hey, Al? Do you wanna take a break?” Charlie’s question catches him off-guard, and a few papers slip out of his fingers, falling to the tabletop. His smile twitches at the corners, but she doesn’t let him answer, standing up and holding her hand out to him. “I know you like playing music. Can we dance?”

“Absolutely, darling!” he chirps, standing up and taking her hand, spinning her under his arm and pulling her out, away from the table and into the extra space in the room. She stumbles just slightly, but he pulls her into a quick-paced dance as peppy swing music begins to emanate from seemingly nowhere. He’s laughing, tugging her along and swinging her around, and she quickly learns the rhythm, laughing and dancing along with him.

And so they dance, paperwork and planning forgotten as they move, practically flying around the room. Alastor is more than happy to disregard the bore that paperwork inevitably brings with it, the music he plays far more interesting and much more exciting to pay attention to than pages upon pages of script. Clearly, though, Charlie doesn’t have nearly the stamina Alastor does, beginning to tire. He may as well slow, if just to prolong their break a bit longer, despite having already gone through quite the number of songs in a row. The songs change quite abruptly, and he winces at that, but takes the lead position, slowing as Charlie does. 

It’s the look in her eyes that makes him think that, just maybe, he shouldn’t have prolonged the return to work for so long. As always, spending far too much time alone with Charlie makes the young woman think far too much, and far too hard about things that should be left well alone. She spends too much time thinking about  _ him _ and he would much rather she didn’t. Running from the situation now, though, would be far too obvious, and would only make her ask more questions.

Alastor stays. Her grip on his hand tightens just a moment before she speaks up. “Alastor, I’ve... I’ve always wondered if you’re really as okay as you say you are. You’re always smiling and you always  _ say _ you’re doing alright, but  _ are _ you?”

“Why of course I’m alright, my dear! Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, continuing to sway even as his own hands go stiff around her own hand, and at her waist. He makes a conscious effort to refrain from actually squeezing, aware it would give away far more than simply stiffening just a bit. Even Niffty usually couldn’t tell.

Then Charlie turns those large eyes upwards, meeting his own, and he flinches a little, forcing it off of his face immediately. “I know you aren’t the best of guys, and Vaggie’s always saying how you’re  _ probably _ just going to betray us at some point, but... you’ve changed, and I... I just want to know how you feel! It would help! Um... you... you don’t have to, of course!”

Alastor stops moving, tilting his head as he stares down at her, smile still plastered on his face. Clearly, the young demon belle has quite the stubborn streak, if not in seeking after his well-being but in the Hotel, and, he assumes, her relationship. Her will has the possibility of wavering, but he simply doesn’t have the groundwork to do anything about it at the moment. She shifts awkwardly (nervously?) under his stare, as she always does when the topic is brought up and a convenient escape is unclear. But if he refuses to answer again, she would simply attempt to corner him again. And again.

“Darling, is anyone in Hell as fine as they say they are?” He drops his hands, wiping them on his coat and returning to his seat, grabbing his papers and tapping them on the desk, straightening out the pile into a neat stack. With his eyes down, focused once more on the paperwork before them, he only hears as Charlie makes her way back to the table, sitting down and not saying anything. The blessed silence lasts for but a moment as she, too, shuffles her papers.

It’s broken as she clears her throat, drawing his eyes up to a page she’s holding out to him. He takes the paper, looking it over. There are several blank lines as he skims it initially. Then he goes back to properly read it. “If you’d like... could you fill this out? You don’t have to put your name on it, or anything. You don’t even have to fill it out entirely. I... I’d like to have it on file, so we can help you be comfortable here, like everyone else!”

Half of the paper is lined, reserved for trauma. He snaps his fingers, placing the paper on his desk, where he hopefully won’t see it again for the rest of the day. “Charlie. Doll. I can guarantee I will not be spilling my life story. My afterlife is quite public knowledge, and I’m sure you needn’t any accounts from myself!”

It seems, with that and a flick of his papers, she’s defeated, and she falls silent once more, returning to her own paperwork and only speaking up to ask questions. If the contents of the paper have burned into his eyes, he chooses to ignore it completely, focusing entirely on the numbers and words on the pages before them. But he didn’t throw out the paper she’d given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll be diving into Alastor's psyche, and the next update will come with a lot of additional tags. It may take me a while to write it out as I do want to take the time to properly research and portray what I have in mind. The content I'm planning on will be rather dark. Even if I do finish it sooner than expected, I will not be posting it until after New Year's. Thank you in advance for your patience!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor has been patient. He's behaved well for the Princess. But every Overlord has their boiling point, and it appears as if Alastor has just hit his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that all tags after "bonding" have just been added. Keep in mind that, scattered throughout this chapter, are subtle and not-so-subtle signs of mental instability, illness, etc. in regards to Alastor. There will be no separation of these parts as in Chapter 2. While I didn't hit everything I wanted to express, this was the best I felt I could do, after several rewrites and long nights. The catalyst for this chapter may seem rather light-hearted or a throwaway, but small things can often trigger responses blown out of proportion. If you have any criticisms, please tell me in the comments. If you don't have criticisms, please comment and tell me what illnesses and disorders you think I referenced throughout.
> 
> This has been pretty long, but I wanted to make sure to get everything out of the way before anyone dove into the actual meat of the chapter!

Alastor didn’t think anything of the paper until late the following day, sitting down at his desk to nurse his wounds, blood smearing all over the floor as he relaxes back. He admits he’d lost his temper earlier, and gone after a group of demons far stronger than he should have, easily outnumbered. His emotions had been bottled for too long, again, Charlie would say. He’s heard her say it multiple times.

“Bottling up your emotions leads to nothing good! Let them out! You'll feel so much better!”

The Radio Demon chuckles painfully to himself, wincing at the sting of his wounds, the claw marks scratched across his chest and ribs. There had been the peek of glistening ribs earlier, before he forced himself to sit and heal at the scene. Nothing good ever really comes from him letting his feelings out. They’re never good feelings, after all.

No. They’re very  _ bad _ feelings. Alastor took the time while he was healing at the scene to think, since it was likely something Charlie would ask about when she discovered about his little... outing. Earlier in the day had started it all off. Angel Dust had been getting in Husk’s pan early that morning, before the cat had had time to get the proper amount of giggle water in him before he could handle the spider. There was  _ something _ on Husk’s face that Alastor has never liked seeing. It took experience to figure it out.

Alastor had turned and left. He remembers Husk calling after him, but he doesn’t remember when Niffty had found him, running her mouth about the  _ fanfiction _ her and Angel Dust had been collaborating on. There was nothing on her face there that he hadn’t seen before, but the pure glee had struck something very wrong inside.

He had shooed her from his office at that point. He remembers getting up and going to walk out of the front door of the Hotel, only for Charlie to ask where he was going. Angel Dust had shown up to ask about him shortly after that. Husk had tried to speak to him about that morning. It hadn’t been until noon that Alastor had managed to escape.

An escape it was. He had immediately gone to pick a fight with whoever was dumb enough to fight him. Luckily for Alastor, idiots like that were in high supply in Hell, and it had taken him, at the most, a handful of minutes. So he fought them, and now he’s sitting in his office, getting blood everywhere, and wondering what, exactly, he should tell Charlie to explain the entrails caught in his door. He really is planning on cleaning that up. He just has to heal himself up, first.

Then the paper that Charlie had given him shifts in a pile as he searches for an empty page to draft up his explanation. What a convenient way to explain away his actions. Pulling up the paper and setting it in front of himself, Alastor keeps his good hand pressed around his ribs. While writing in blood is a typical standard, here, he has a feeling Charlie would not appreciate the sentiment. A simple black ink will do, and he painstakingly writes a semblance of his name at the top.  _ Al _ will have to do. He pauses to heal himself a bit more, wiping the blood on his hand on his coat, instead. It doesn’t work; there’s already quite a large amount of wet blood still on the garment, and there’s no point. 

So he uses his clean hand to write. It isn’t as clean and neat as if he used his dominant hand, but he learned how to write well enough with his non-dominant hand. His handwriting is still legible. The first questions are multiple about his family. He skipped those. What does his family have to do with current behavior? He moves on to questions about his death. Those are skipped, as well. Finally are questions about the dreaded feelings.

Feelings. Emotions. Diagnoses from life that may have effected said emotions. Alastor knows his emotions, today. Today may be the best time to fill out such a silly little slip.

_ “What emotions do you feel most prominently? Are they different from when you were alive?” _

A couple of simple questions he should be able to answer. The emotions he feels most are... well, negative. Boredom, hunger, irritation. Yes, that sounds right. Except today. 

... right. He told himself something about getting it done today because he knows today’s emotions. Today’s emotions, because of seeing everyone in the morning and early afternoon. Jealousy. Anger. Perhaps... loneliness? No, not loneliness. Absolutely not. Just because Angel Dust was becoming fast friends with Niffty, and was getting close to Husk, does not mean he feels  _ lonely _ . No. That’s ridiculous. Alastor’s true friends are far and few between. Jealousy and anger.

Is it different from when he was alive? Yes. No. No, the feelings are hardly any different than when he was alive. He was never really full, but his family hardly had money to spare, and he grew to learn to ignore it. Down in Hell, the hunger became insatiable. As a young child, Alastor had always been bored, had always been seeking out new ways to entertain himself. That had turned into the killing and skinning, the dissection of small animals. It had evolved, of course, to humans. All in an effort to entertain himself. The boredom had hardly subsided in Hell; if anything, there was less to do. Many demons simply accepted their fate when he came to call, and if they didn’t, it didn’t last very long as entertainment. Charlie knew he had agreed to help with the Hotel because he was bored. Everything was irritating in various degrees. It happened even when he was alive. Finding something that wasn’t irritating was more rare than finding something that was.

But the jealousy and anger? There’s nothing he can recall that made him so  _ angry, _ like that morning had. There had been plenty of jealousy, of course. He remembers jealousy all too well, and there had been far too much of it for his liking. He’d hoped his afterlife would be better. He fought for quality of life, after all, and now... now he’s fallen right back into a jealous loop. Disgusting.

He writes down everything regardless, scowling down at the paper, and the bloody hand in his lap. His healing is taking ages, and he does not appreciate it. Alastor sets down his pen, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, focusing on healing, now. If he can just heal and clean up before Charlie finds him, maybe he won’t even have to talk to her about what happened-- wait, no, there’s still intestines stuck in the door. Niffty hasn’t quite made her fifth round of the Hotel just yet. 

Then he thinks.  _ Why _ is he jealous? What in the Hell made him jealous? Angel Dust had been close to Husk, and Alastor had seen his expression light up in a way he didn’t like. But what had the expression been? It was... it had large pupils, and Husk had smiled. He had  _ smiled. _ Yes, that was the problem. Precisely. Husk never smiled at Alastor without being forced to! And Niffty had spoken on and on about Angel Dust, and she  _ never _ spoke so extensively about others to him before.

He’s jealous because they’re... both doing much better without him. They really are. He hadn’t thought of it before now. Husk was becoming genuinely close to someone that wasn’t Alastor. Niffty was genuinely befriending another man that wasn’t Alastor. It had been decades of just the three of them.

A sudden pinching of healing nerves makes Alastor slam his head down against the desk in sudden pain, hissing through his teeth. He feels his claws digging into newly-healed flesh, and he lifts his arm from the wounds to his mouth, instead, biting down as hard as he can to refrain from digging deeper into his healing body. Husk likely wouldn’t appreciate finding him passed out behind a closed door again. How many times had that happened? He doesn’t remember, likely largely in part due to having been unconscious each time. It had been more of a problem, years ago. There’s a bit of pride in only tearing some of the muscle in his arm, this time. His arms had always healed faster, and better, than anything much more easily concealed.

Oh. Neither himself nor Husk has told Charlie, yet. At least, he isn’t aware of Husk spilling secrets he shouldn’t. She would want to know, of course. So he sits up, arm still held firmly in his mouth should another flash of pain introduce itself, and writes something about that down... somewhere. He’s a little lightheaded. Perhaps he should... remove his arm. Let it heal. Yes. It falls to his lap, and he rests his forehead against his desk. He deserves a bit of a break.

He closes his eyes for a moment. Just a moment. His body will heal while he rests. The healing of a demon body, the threshold of destruction, it’s all so much higher than that of the human body. It’s good for him. When he was human... well, it was always such a  _ pain _ having to worry about hitting veins and arteries on his own body. Waiting for the blood to stop had always been awful. Now, though? It’s quite simple. He waits, and the bleeding stops far quicker than it ever had in life. Why, he remembers waiting for arterial blood flow to cease, simply not wanting to deal with the mess it can leave behind!

Alastor opens his eyes. Blood has dried, and he no longer feels the pain of hurried healing. Sitting up properly, he stares at the paper on his desk. It had been filled out at some point while he was resting. In particular... it had been the questions about his death. Glancing up at his door, he sees the entrails have been removed, and his trail of blood has been cleaned up. So Niffty had been in and out, and filled out his form. His pen is just out of his reach, where she must have left it as she jumped off of his desk.

She had filled in a line beneath the trauma section of the form. Niffty remembers, then, when the three of them had been drunk off their asses and he had mentioned his death. They had all mentioned their deaths. Her handwriting is neat against the scrawl of his left hand, and he sighs, picking up his right hand and flexing it, dried blood flaking off at the movement. Perhaps he can simply leave it as is.

But he catches a whiff of a signature perfume as he stretches to reach his pen, off where Niffty had left it. So the princess had seen he was working on it, as well. If he fails to turn it in to her filled out any further, there’s no doubt she would take it upon herself to bother him about it. Then again... she didn’t leave anything behind asking about what he’d been doing! How progressive of her.

Better safe than sorry, though. He takes a blank paper off of a stack, and he lays it out so he can begin to write. While filling out the form allows for a more abstract apology, he feels it may be best if he combines it with a proper apology. Of course, he isn’t actually sorry. Tearing apart every one of those upstart demons had been therapeutic. 

_ Alastor had appeared in front of a bar. It was a simple game of waiting for someone to be kicked out, and he didn’t have to wait long for just the right candidates. His foot had begun to tap nearly the moment a group of five demons had been tossed out of the bar. It was quite easy to goad them into a fight. He had let them think he was weak, that he had used his magic far too much elsewhere, and that he had been vulnerable when he simply stumbled upon the wrong demons. _

_ Of course, he hadn’t. No, he had been looking but a few minutes for someone to fight. As they fought him, he took steps away from the entrance, and dragged them into an alleyway. It had been a poor choice to allow them to hit him so hard, but the pain was fantastic. He couldn’t deny the fact that the pain had made him feel something, and that was what he had been after. All these demons were was a means to an end, which they had achieved for him. _

_ He had let them claw into him, digging into flesh, fat, muscle. There had been teeth in his face at one point, and he had substituted his face for his arm. The claws had been in his sides, and had opened up his abdomen. His attackers had stopped at the laughter he had allowed to slip from his grinning lips. It was fantastic. He had gotten what he needed, and he thoroughly enjoyed it. _

_ With their usefulness expired, Alastor had simply taken them apart, piece by piece. First the jaws, then the limbs, tossed aside to be dealt with later. Skinning alive wasn’t an option in a filthy alleyway, so he settled for a classic disembowelment. Of course, he hadn’t brought a knife, and couldn’t be bothered summoning one, so he simply tore them open with his hands. The visceral glee in tearing through their flesh and making their innards outards had been wonderful. It had been years since he last performed something so primitive. He pulled every slimy, wriggling, pulsing organ out, one by one. Many he left aside for scavenging demons to find later, once he had finished with his fun. The bites taken from their hearts would undoubtedly give scavengers second thoughts, even long after he had left, and that was an exciting thought. _

The fear of the Radio Demon could always be depended on when he felt inadequate-- not that he ever did, of course. 

And his apology has turned to excuses. How appalling. He’ll have to start anew. When it had devolved to excuses, he doesn’t really know, and he doesn’t really care. He crumples up the paper, tossing it aside and pulling a new one towards him. This one will truly be an apology. A sorry for trailing intestines through the lobby, perhaps, and a sorry for being such an  _ insolent  _ child before. Yes, that would be a proper apology.

Alastor signs it with a flourish and lays it atop the unfinished form. If he wants, he can come back and finish the form, but he’ll leave the apology for Charlie to find when she inevitably comes snooping again. Instead of sticking around to watch, Alastor simply makes his way to his bedroom. All of that healing has left him feeling rather sluggish, and he has plenty of time to nap before Niffty attempts to find him for supper. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to have sausages made from the intestines he brought along from his earlier encounter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you think more warnings/tags are needed, please feel free to tell me, and I’ll get that taken care of. If you want more like this, let me know in the comments. If you want more soft Alastor, good news! I’ve got plans for some soft Al next. Let me know if you want to see more of his instability in the softer chapters, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor expects consequences and gets time alone with Niffty, instead. Dealing with paperwork turns into even more of a chore than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while! I won’t make excuses, I just hope you guys approve of the new chapter, which is also the first time I've seriously attempted to write Niffty (I hope I've done alright). More information below, so I don’t take up too much space before the chapter :) Enjoy!

Niffty rarely stands still for more than a moment before she darts off to clean something or other, or is seemingly pulled by an unknown force off into the distance. Alastor has found it’s often fairly easy to get her to stay in one place for quite a while, if one gave her initiative enough. For today, his choice of initiative is giving her the coat he had ripped in yesterday’s... poorly thought-through escapade.

She perches pretty on a couch in his office, dwarfed by the size of the furniture and the coat she has spread over her lap. On the arm of the couch sits an old sewing kit, which she’s using to pick and choose from to patch up the many tears in Alastor’s coat. The Radio Demon himself is sitting in his office chair, focusing on paperwork he had neglected the day before. There’s one piece of paper he’s left alone, though; a piece of paper he knows Niffty is familiar with.

“Hey, Alastor?”

He turns to face Niffty, watching as her hands continue to flit over his coat, her tiny hands practically a blur as she makes nigh-invisible closures where the tears were just a handful of minutes ago. It’s incredibly fascinating to watch her sew, her focus entirely on the one project, sitting still long enough to actually observe. “Yes, little darling? Are you out of thread?”

“Um, no, but I was wondering if you finished the form that Charlie gave you! She wanted me to check and see if you’ve got anything new written down! You had a lot already when we found it and I was honestly really impressed! I thought you would probably be a little upset if you had to write anything down yourself but Charlie said I should let you write instead.” She doesn’t move superfluously, focus still on the very same project that Alastor previously thought would keep her attention on clothing and sewing for another three hours, at the least.

Now there’s a heat coiling in his veins. It isn’t the good kind of heat in his veins, like the heat that runs through his body during a hunt, the heat of anticipation and excitement from a successful broadcast and an even more successful rubbing-out of lesser demon lives. No. The heat in his veins is the bad heat, the kind that manifests itself when Niffty and Husk jaw on without him even if he’s sitting right there, when Angel suggests Valentino is stronger and more worthy of fear than Alastor, when he hears the staff’s laughter come to a stop when he walks in. Alastor feels his smile straining, even as he keeps himself smiling as big as he normally does. Niffty isn’t allowed to know.

He sets aside his paperwork and opens a drawer, pulling out an unfinished project. Fiddling with paper is hardly busywork. Keeping his hands busy with sewing up the details is unnecessary work, but he’s going to continue as long as Niffty insists on the topic of conversation. “Niffty, doll, I assure you it’s all taken care of. Have you ever known me to leave work unfinished once it’s started?” 

“Well, no, but you do, sometimes! You put things down and then you get distracted and you leave whatever it was unfinished for a while! Like when you were trying to redecorate but you went for a hunt instead, because you were hungry and didn’t want to wait for dinner!” She doesn’t even flinch at the sudden burst of static and the quick changing of channels to counteract the involuntary sound. It’s been so long since he’s been able to catch her off-guard; she’s too used to him. Niffty knows him. “And you’re not finishing your paperwork, either! And you’re working on a new doll that’s not finished!”

His hand slips, pricking his finger through his glove with the needle in hand. Furrowing his brows at Niffty doesn’t make a dent in her smile, either, though, even if she does know that he’s frowning at her. She’s right. He doesn’t like it, but she’s right, and he bows his head to glare at the doll in his hand, instead. “You have acquired the hair from the proprietresses like I told you to, yes?”

“Nope! You’re not going to finish it now because you said you don’t know who you’re gonna make next! You haven’t even done the face, yet!” Niffty shifts his coat around, probably working on the ever-present tatters on the edge. She tries it every time she gets her hands on his coat, and every time the tatters make themselves known again within hours. He hasn’t told her not to bother in decades. “Besides, what happened to Miss Angel Dust’s doll? I swear you told Husk you were going to make one last month. Or was that last week?”

Sighing, Alastor stabs the needle through the thick fabric, pulling the edges of the doll’s back together, closing the seam with a tug that is probably a little too vicious for the conversation. The doll is going to be fine. If he were sewing anything else, his grip would have torn the fabrics, already. He needs to regain proper control. Sitting back in his chair forces his spine straight up and down, forcing his head up enough he can see Niffty in his peripheral. “His doll is where it belongs. How has the upkeep of the Hotel been with the new additions? I imagine they aren’t exactly the  _ cleanest _ of patrons we could have attracted.”

The relief at being able to watch Niffty’s interest in conversation shift is far too tangible to be comfortable. Heat cools in his veins, the buzzing in his head quiets, and he can peel his gloved claws away from nearly puncturing the doll in hand, leaving him sighing as he allows himself to relax his posture once more. Her mouth starts moving nearly as fast as her hands, talking and talking about how many messes she had needed to clean up that morning alone. He quietly tucks the in-progress doll back into the drawer, laying a piece of fabric over the top, just to hide it from an initial look. While she moves from describing mess to mess, Alastor moves from sewing to doing his paperwork. There are far more numbers and quantities involved in helping Charlie run the Hotel than he had initially expected, but he’s sure he can attribute some said numbers to the amount of newcomers and the messes left behind.

Niffty keeps talking. She knows how to go quiet, so he isn’t too bothered. It’s strange to be alone in a room with only Niffty as company, again. Even in the earlier days had Husk spending time with the two of them, when Alastor spared the time between hunts and being delirious from overexertion. Overexertion of his powers, physical overexertion... being found unconscious.

Glaring as much as a piece of paper can is the form settled on the corner of his desk. He had been so upset the day before about things Husk and Niffty had done, yet everyone had been acting as if nothing had happened, even when Alastor had chosen to ignore Husk’s offer of a morning quilt. Like any other day, Niffty had gone about cleaning and chattering and scampering across the walls. Like any other day, Charlie had frantically checked on every guest at breakfast and made sure the newest additions to the clientele had given her their forms. 

In a lull while Niffty takes a deep breath to have enough air to keep talking, he reaches over and places the form in front of himself. The rest of his paperwork is quite boring, anyways; numbers are hardly stimulating and he simply can _ not _ find it within himself to continuously stare at the paperwork, no matter how much he thinks of it as the most productive way to spend his time. Just an hour of work has proved that well enough. Dipping his pen in the inkwell with a practiced hand, he finishes writing out his name at the top of the form. Seeing the contrast between his shaky, weak handwriting next to the crisp strokes of his typical handwriting almost makes him want to frown at it. 

Niffty’s own handwriting stands out even further against his own. He looks up at her, interrupting her spiel for his own sake. “Why don’t you tell me about that other hobby of yours, dear? I will write on this form for however long you speak of it.”

Alastor  puts ink to paper as she starts talking again. If he’s going to fill out this form, it might as well be with the help of the company currently taking better care of his coat than he ever has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To start with: I haven’t been keeping up very well with Hazbin news. There’s a lot of information that I probably won’t know, because I don’t watch livestreams and I only follow one or two of the crew on Twitter, which I honestly don’t use to check for news very often. 
> 
> Because of that, if there’s information that you guys think I need to know for future chapters (or even future works, since I have an idea I’ve been drafting for months) please do feel free to leave it in the comments. I have a vague plan for the next three chapters of this fic that I do intend on writing and posting eventually, but beyond that I’ve got no idea where this fic will go. 
> 
> With all that in mind, if there are any character interactions you’d like to see from me in this fic, again, please feel free to leave some suggestions in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment or kudos if you want to see more; I would appreciate the feedback.


End file.
